


Paper Balls and Too Much Alcohol

by haley is super duper rad ok (SuperHaleyWhoLock)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Bottom Castiel, Drunk Castiel, Drunk Dean, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn, Psychologist Castiel, Smut, So much angst, Suicide Attempt, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3472223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperHaleyWhoLock/pseuds/haley%20is%20super%20duper%20rad%20ok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Cas wanted on his hands was a dead guy. Or a drunk guy. In fact, Cas didn't want a guy at all. Or a girl. Right now, all he wants to do is find a new job, pay off his massive student debt, and try not fuck his life up any more than he already has. He absolutely does not need some green-eyed asshole slurring his words at him and weaseling his way into his life. Although, he has always loved freckles...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Balls and Too Much Alcohol

**Author's Note:**

> the summary is shit but i promise the actual story is 100x better i think
> 
> also shoutout to my beta shawna (isweariusedtocare) on tumblr ur the bomb.com

There's something nauseating about watching the subway doors open and close every five minutes -- like clockwork. Every time the two pieces of glass part to allow some New York trash to stumble out into the darkness, the stench of rodents and vomit wafts into the car and strangles us all. 

 

I've lost count of the stops, the number of people who've left, and how long I've been on this God forsaken thing. I think I'm the only sober person here, including the driver. Most of the people on here are drunks who either couldn't find their cars or had some friend who wouldn't let them drive completely smashed. I wish I had someone like that to look out for me.

One guy who smells particularly strongly of whiskey has been sitting across from me since I boarded this train to hell. I spend a couple minutes absentmindedly staring at him, examining each freckle, every patch of stubble. I snap out of my haze, hoping he didn't see me.

In fact, I don't even think he's awake. He's been completely motionless the entire ride. With nothing better to do, I devise a game to pass the time. Crumpling up papers that were probably once important but have since been banished to the bottom of my bag, I decide to test his patience, and consciousness. 

Mean, I know, but it's not like I'm not Asshole of the Year. I try to throw papers in his general direction, but he doesn't move an inch, so I up the ante. I start throwing them on his lap, then at his chest, and eventually straight at his face. One bounces off of his nose, and I feel a surge of pride at my aim.

His mouth opens a little after the driver swerves to avoid hitting a pedestrian and hits a small trash can instead, and I find a new target. I make the balls of paper smaller so they can fit in his mouth, but I the closest I get to his mouth are his cheeks. He has really nice cheeks. 

It doesn't occur to me until 26 balls of paper and three stops later that he hasn't moved at all since I first saw him. I lean forward slightly to stare at his chest, searching for the telltale rise and fall. My eyes shift to his nose, hoping to find even the slightest inkling of movement, the tiniest hint of breath. Every part of the man is absolutely still: no twitching fingers, no moving eyelids, no sniffles or snores or signs of any life. So I start throwing more papers, bigger papers. Still nothing. 

I begin throwing with more force as I try to ignore the nagging worry in the back of my mind. 

It wouldn't be the first time someone OD'd on one of these subways. But what is he on? He looks drunk, but not much else.

Alcoholic after alcoholic staggers out into the streets, and still Freckles stays as still as a statue.

Or a dead guy.

I shudder.

I keep up the game, though at this point it's more like poking a corpse with a stick than playing basketball with some poor guy's mouth. Paper after paper ricochets off of his face. I think I finally manage to land a paper ball in his mouth, but at this point I don't care.

Finally, we begin to approach the very last stop, and as I gather my things, I glance at him again: surrounded by papers, a visible puddle of drool on his shirt, and no signs of consciousness. Or worse yet, life.

I contemplate trying to wake him. I slowly walk towards him, reaching out a finger to poke him in the face. Again, not very nice, but whatever.

But as I draw nearer to the sleeping/dying/dead man, who I'm starting to both fear for and like, the reek of sewage begins to overcome me and I know it's time to get off.

_ Oh well_, I say to myself,  _I'm sure someone will get him._ I try not to think of how the driver smells of Jack Daniels as I exit into the night.  _I'm sure someone will find him and wake him up,_ I think, repeating the lie to myself.


End file.
